


Campaign

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [575]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/M, Political!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: such-a-random-rambler askedlets see some 14, 96 Thunderbirds14: Bodyguard AU96:  Scars





	Campaign

She only comes in the night.

Virgil’s alone now, the only one to laugh at his double entendre – the sun started it’s climb over the city minutes ago, but the bed beside him is already cold.  Scott would already be up, fielding calls from pollsters and looking at the overnight’s and the news and the schedule for the day’s campaigning, and Kayo would be by his side as always, loyal as a hound and silent as the grave.

Virgil has no idea if she even looks at him as he slides in at the last minute to join the phalanx of campaign staffers readying to move.  She’s always inscrutable behind her mirrored sunglasses, an approved five feet behind and one foot to the left of her principle as Scott steps out of the hotel to press the flesh of the small but loyal band of political groupies and early-bird reporters camped out outside the hotel of whatever town they’ve stopped at today.

Virgil trots on behind, trying to pretend that he’s his brother’s advisor and she’s his brother’s protector and that’s the only common denominator, trying not to stare through her smart dark blazer and crisp white shirt, trying to pretend like everything is fine.

She comes in the night, refuses to let him turn on the light, so Virgil has touched and tasted but never seen the peppering of marks left across her back by shattering glass, the sharply curved ridge above his hip that he still doesn’t know the story behind.  He knows the story of the chrysanthemum bloom of ridged skin on her shoulder though; he’d been the one to press his own jacket to staunch the flow of ruby red blood as her team had converged like ants on Scott and whisked him away.

If he thinks of it, he can still smell the cordite of the assassin’s bullet that missed and her return volley that didn’t.  Sometimes he still wakes in the dawn sure his fingers are actually tacky with her blood. Sometimes he wishes she would be there in the morning, but if they didn’t betray their secret as she lay on ugly conference room carpet that was turning red, then he wasn’t going to betray it in a carpark somewhere too far from any coast.

Jane, Scott’s stats girl, bumps against his side and he mutters an apology around a tongue too dry and rough to fit his mouth, blinking as they cross to the waiting bus.   _RE-ELECT TRACY: TOGETHER WE CAN TOUCH THE SKY_  emblazoned on the side next to a larger than life photo of Scott’s working smile.

Scott’s already onboard, ready to start another day, but Kayo pauses, her eyes sweeping the lot for any sign of threat.

They come to rest on him, and Virgil can’t stop his eyes dropping to her crisp collar, knowing that just below the line of fabric he’d bitten his own temporary mark into her skin not hours before.

Even in the dark, he knows the shape of that tiny flicker of a smile, and then she’s gone.

“You okay, V?” Jane asks, eyes on her tablet, already half-gone in the numbers as she pauses by the bus.

Virgil takes a moment to tip his head back, stretching out the kinks in his back.  Above him is stacked high infinite blue, unmarked by so much as a cloud.  He resists the urge to reach up, shakes out the last of the kinks instead.  “Yeah.  Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.”


End file.
